Who?
by ristiki
Summary: Sherlock comes home and finds himself in a predicament he never could have imagined. (Short fic mult chapter, do not oen BBC Sherlock)
1. Chapter 1

It was three years time after the staged incident.

Sherlock had seen many things in that time. He had been all over the world, evading the master eye of Jim Moriarty. He'd been to the Swiss Alps, Niagara Falls, and close to his departure, the Eiffel Tower. He saw all of these places as a blur, thinking of all the crime and mystery he could be immersed in wherever he went.

He remained inactive during the three years prior to his stunt, not causing any attention to focus upon him. If he began to solve cases, he would be tracked easily, which he knew. He made sure to stay mainly in rural areas where few crimes happen, the logical place where prying eyes would not expect him to be.

Every time he read a case in the papers, he thought of his work. He thought of all the things he had left behind and how much he so badly wanted to be back in all of the muck of crime. He missed the lab, he missed 221b Baker st. and he missed only one person: John Watson.

John had been there for him since the beginning when he shot the bad cabbie in the head. John had saved him not only from death, but from boredom. Yes, John was a simple man, just a Doctor at best, but he was something different all the same.

John Watson was a change in the everyday, seeking the same danger as he had. He could come home and have someone to talk to other than the skull on his mantle. It was strange to be around someone who did not call him a freak when he voiced his deductions. This is what made John different from the others, he knew what it was to be so in love with and so connected to all the crime and the danger. He and John breathed the same air, apart from all others and they melted into each other's lives without effort.

He had torn himself from John three years prior and he knew he had to come back to him. He knew he had spent far too much time away and it was time to see John, to come home.


	2. Chapter 2

It felt like only a moment's time before Sherlock was again at the door of 221b. He was feeling some sort of emotion, whether it be excitement, joy, or a combination of the two he was not sure. He had only begun to get extreme emotion upon having John in his life.

He didn't feel he deserved to say he had John in his life since he had been away so long, but the wait was to be over in a matter of seconds.

Just as he was about to rap upon the old wooden door, he heard a clamoring rushing up the stairs. _Dammit, Mrs. Hudson._ He thought bitterly, but he greeted the tired, frazzled woman with a gentle clap to the shoulder and brisk smile. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson." he breathed. "Sherlock! Sherlock where have you _been_?"

He was faced with something he could not explain, which had not happened in many a year. "No matter, Mrs. Hudson. I am not dead and that is all that matters. I would like to see John now." The dazed, happy look upon Mrs. Hudson's face was abruptly smeared away by what he said; she now look terrified and sad. "You can't, Sherlock."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Hudson? Let me see him." he stated firmly, seeing her tense and move quickly between him and the door to 221b. He was unsure of what was making the pleasant and sweet Mrs. Hudson create such a negative aura about herself. She was always so ready to let him pass, prepared to undergo possible explosions and other dangers in his wake. She never seemed so tense nor so protective and that made him visibly nervous.

"Sherlock. I forbid you from passing this door. You are no longer a tenant of 221b. Please come to my flat for a visit or leave straight away." Mrs. Hudson ordered, pressing her back upon the wooden door. He looked from Mrs. Hudson to the floor and back to her. She looked nervous, as though she were being caught in a lie. She was perspiring heavily and there was a slight shake in her hands; she was extremely stressed.

Without a second for her to notice or react, he lost all feeling for her well being and shoved her aside ruthlessly. Mrs. Hudson tripped on the catch in the floor and fell upon her side with a loud thud and sharply took a breath, knowing the minor pain in the moment would feel a thousand times worse later. She tried to rise, but he had already forced open the door.


	3. Chapter 3

(**I hope this is a good continuation, Ebony.) Note: more chapters are in the works! Please message me prompts and enjoy :)**

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There, on his computer as mindlessly focused upon the little screen as ever, was John Watson. He looked at the curve of John's nose and small wrinkles that had grown only slightly upon his face since the last time they had been in the apartment together three years before.

The apartment looked different: the mantle without his skull and, seemingly, everything of his, was gone. He was not surprised to see all of his belongings vanished, since three years can make people very upset and want to rid of any reminder of the deceased.

John looked up from his screen once he ripped his attention from his screen, thinking that Mrs. Hudson had had some nightmare about the man she always talks about again. He saw John look at him and didn't get what he had expected. There was no relief, happiness, or even anger, that he had been expecting in John's eyes. There was a vacancy, a confusion.

"Why did you knock open my door, Sir?" John asked in not even the slightest alarm. He stood there motionless. He was speechless. _Sir? _He thought. He didn't know what was going on, but he went with it anyhow. "Mrs. Hudson wouldn't let me through and I desired seeing you." He said. John's brown furrowed and he asked "Who _are _you?"

He felt a grip in his left chest cavity. His eyes searched all over on John's face for a sign that he was just playing a joke. John stared at his expectantly, waiting for an answer. Mrs. Hudson sobbed "I told you not to go in Sherlock!" and John's face became a murderous mask.

"_YOU _ARE SHERLOCK?! _**YOU**_ ARE THE BLOODY CHARACTER SHE HAS BEEN COMIGN TO ME LATE AT NIGHT CRYING ABOUT?" John yelled. He tensed and looked back at Mrs. Hudson, but she had already turned and was hurrying down the stairs, a handkerchief in hand. He saw John rise, grabbing his cane. John proceeded to come over and come nose to nose with him. "Don't you _ever_ hurt Mrs. Hudson again." and knocked him out cold with one swift, strong punch in the temple.


	4. Chapter 4

He woke with a cold sweat upon his back. "John..." he whispered. The only thought running through his many gears of a mind was John. "John." he stated loudly. He tried to rise and found himself in metal constraints. He looked everywhere and could see no key nor hint at a verbal code to unlock the binds in which he had been trapped. He had let his guard down and decided it was not best for him to trust in John at the precise moment because John had led him into a trap. John did not even know who he was.

He thought about that again. _John does not know who I am._ That stuck in some place in his body like a knife. The pain was so brutal he had to look and see if he had actually been stabbed in his chest. Either way, blood or no, he was hurting in a way he had not yet felt in his entire life. Needless to say, he did not enjoy this new experience.

There was a tapping at the door. "Yes, do come in, I'd love to have a little chat, Jim." He said. Alas, James Moriarty entered the room accompanied by none other than John Watson. "John, who is this man?" Jim asked. "This is Sherlock Holmes. Why have you asked me to bring him here. I can hardly stand to look at the man after what he's done to poor Mrs. Hudson." The words stung him like a thousand wasps discovering that someone had knocked down their nest. "John, save the sentiments for later. I have asked you to bring him because he is going to see what he has done. This is only the beginning of his punishment. Now, Dear, sit down in this chair." Jim said, directing John to a silver chair with cables and chords of all colors and sorts running to and from it. John looked, for no longer than a second, scared, but he sat down obediently, glancing with anger at him before Jim turned around to approach.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. Oh the adventures we have gone through together! Oh, but you thought I was dead? I can fake death just as well as you can, Dear." Jim said with a light chuckle hiding in the words. Jim swiftly approached the seemingly calm John and connected various cables metal knots to the sitting man's fingers, arms, neck and head. Jim pulled out the remote within the tight coat pocket and smiled knowingly to him, winking. "What are you doing?" He asked, knowing the answer but biding the time before what was to come. "Oh, let's cut to the chase, Sherlock, you know _exactly_ what I'm doing." and Jim pressed a single red button.

His face tensed and within seconds, he was deafened by the screams of Dr. John Watson.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm sorry this chapter has been published so late! I have been working and doing schoolwork, but it's break and I'll have more time to write now. Enjoy!**

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"Something the matter?" Jim asked in a voice dripping with false sweetness. He cringed, listening to the desperate shrieks of John growing louder and more frantic. He so badly wanted to get up and rip the strains on John and run away with him. He wanted to get away from Jim forever, from every memory of his life in London. He wanted to leave behind Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper, Detective Lestrade and even his brother Mycroft. The only reminder of the past he wanted was John Watson. Why he wanted John so badly to be around him for the remainder of his life, he could not explain, but he could not speak anyways. Speaking would give Jim a fire to make the torture worse.

"Please, Dear, say something. Good company is talkative company, didn't you know? Didn't your mum teach you any manners?" smiling sickly, Jim continued, "Now, why don't you answer my question." He felt beads of sweat across his brow and attempted to will them away, but to no avail. Small droplets of sweat began to slide across his corneas, like raindrops across a windshield "No, James, nothing the matter, not in the least." he lied. He gave up not fueling Jim's anger. He had returned to his own stubborn self.

Jim pressed a combination of buttons and the chair and its chords stopped humming and John relaxed, tears brimming at the eyes that were not looking to him. He felt like John's eyes would never look his way again, but that was not the worst feeling, no, for the next was even worse. "Watch this, Sherlock. I've trained him pretty well." Jim said excitedly, then he said a single word to John, "Sherlock."

John, seemingly bound to the chair he was in, toppled over, trying to run. The man looked genuinely terrified; looking beyond the walls and the people in the room. Jim said his name again and again. John became worse and worse in state and he just watched in awe and wonder. _How does a man's name register such a pained lo- _then it hit him. Jim had trained John to be physically and wholly afraid of him. Any known version of himself was dwindling away as he saw tears finally streaming down the face of John Watson and he blew up.

"STOP." he hollered, not looking away from John. Jim silenced and John went limp, sweating and crying silently. John did not look anywhere but into space. He was crushed. "Oh, Sherlock, why do you love him? He is so _simple_, so easy to manipulate! I never saw you going for such a dim type. You could do so much better!" he finally tore his eyes from John's troubled, wet face and thought about the question. _I- I do love John, don't I. I only want him. I only need his presence to feel comfort. I have never needed a single person, never. _"I love him because he believes in me." he sighed in defeat. He did not care what happened now; Jim could kill him out of boredom and he would not mind. He wanted to state the truth and that is, after all, what he was best at.

"Love, it's the greatest weakness, Sherlly! Well, that should make this all the more fun to tell you! I have invented a physical program in which you connect an image to the brain and connect that image to highly painful jolts of electricity. Now, I am sure you know where this is going, but" He screamed, "NO. NO, YOU DIDN'T!" but he knew. "Now, don't interrupt Sherlock, manners! Anyhow, I have programmed your picture in various forms and engrained your image into John's mind as the cause of his daily torture. Aren't I fabulous?" Jim finished with a short laugh, walking over to John. Unbound from clips and ties and practical chains, John stood. He tentatively called "John?" and John slowly turned. Jim was busy laughing and John was so silent and gracefully unnoticeable, movement was left ignored. He looked to John, seeing the gash upon John's face from hitting the floor he now notice was covered in shards of glass. Blood was dripping down and he just stared as the defeated-looking man trudged to the side of his 'bed.' Jim watched and smiled, twisting about in glee, unaware that John was not only doing the worst thing, but also secretly accomplishing the best. John looked him in the eye and said something so quiet and soft he could barely pick it up.

"I know you have not hurt me, Sherlock." and with that sentiment, John pulled out of his sleeve a knife and drew it softly across his face. He was in shock from the words, just as John had planned. He did not feel the pain of the knife blade across his skin, but the happiness inside from the confirmation that John was not truly crippled by the thought of him. The next thing he did notice, though. John took a large needle and stabbed it into the meat of his shoulder. He screamed and fire began to burn his body it felt. He screamed uncontrollably and John said with a false strength, "Done. Now I'll go."

Jim smiled and as stepped out of the room. John quickly held his hand, ice quenching the thirst for cool for just a moment as he was burning inside. A guard walked in and did not question a thing, hitting John over the head with a metal pole, which became covered in blood. He did not scream, but a tear fell from his left eye as he watched John being drug out of the room by his ankles, glass catching the man's limp face.

And then he burned and thrashed his limbs about until John's blood had dried upon the floor and then he fell into a deranged and confused slumber.


End file.
